The Road Less Taken
by EygptianFireFly
Summary: The International Federation of Wizarding Worlds occupies Brittan. Their belief: if the Ministry of Magic is corrupt, and the MoM influences Hogwarts, then Hogwarts is corrupted. If that happens, where will Harry go? How will it change him? pseudo-slash.
1. Chapter 1:Notice

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, do you think I'd have to write Fanfiction?

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**Chapter 1: Notice**

The International Federation of Wizarding Worlds had become fed up with Wizarding Britain's ignorance. The IFWW had felt that they had no right telling a country how to rule its people, but with all the problems Wizarding Britain already had, there were rumors that the IFWW couldn't really do any damage. However, no matter how bad the situation got in Britain, as long as it stayed in Britain it wasn't an affair of the council. Many even believed that Britain had brought this onto itself. These rabble rousers didn't even think Britain had the right to ask the council for help, if Wizarding Britain ever got around to it.

Luckily for British wizarding citizens it never came to that. The International Federation of Wizarding Worlds was forced to step in. Voldemort had attacked a French village. In the time span of four minutes, the time it took the first Death Eater to assault a French villager, The Dark Lord Voldemort had become an international problem. In a quarter of an hour the magical division of the French Foreign Legion was at the scene of the crime arresting Death Eaters. By half past the hour the council had been called. By a quarter 'til an invasion plan had been mapped, and by the chime of the next hour mixed forces from the major countries of the council had been gathered; their job was going to be occupying Britain, all of it, even Hogwarts.

It was at breakfast when the news came that Britain had been invaded with magical troops for 'its own safety'. It hadn't come with the post, nor did Headmistress Umbridge make a pious announcement. Nope, it walked right in. A specialty group of troops had been assigned with the taking of Hogwarts. They had walked right up to the school, thru its doors, and up to the great hall. The men stood in four rows of six and followed in directly after their commanding officer. The troops wore uniforms of moss green robes embroidered with bright red thread in what Harry thought were protection symbols. All of the soldiers carried staves of wood. Harry could tell there were details on them, just not what. The commanding officer wore a set of black robes trimmed in gold with red and green embroidery. Altogether it was a rather surprising sight for just after seven in the morning. After getting over the shock of the troops just waltzing in for breakfast Harry admitted, if only to himself, that the uniforms did look rather sharp.

Shooting up from her seat at the middle of the head table with the rest of the teaching staff, Headmistress Umbridge glowered at the man; before calmly asking his business. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"You are Madam Umbridge?" The commander asked while stepping forward and reaching inside his robes for a scroll. The man came to a stop just beside Harry's place at the end of Gryffindor table where he sat alone. Sometime in the past week he had angered his friends and for now the only ones who were talking to him were Neville and Luna. He liked to think Hermione would have, but she was Ron's official girlfriend and she didn't want to cause a rift so early in the relationship. That morning he had come down to sit with Neville for breakfast, but found Neville walking to the infirmary ill, so Harry had been sitting alone at the table just before this started; and now he was in the perfect position to observe the commanding officer.

The man stood just a little tall at about six feet. His shoulders were broad; Harry could see the man's muscles as his uniform hugged his body. All Harry could see was pure muscle, and he walked quietly, even in the silent hall Harry could barely hear his footsteps. The officer's face was like chiseled stone, powerful angles and planes. His skin was a light toffee-caramel color, his hair was pin-straight and a black so deep Harry would've sworn it absorbed the light. The man eyes as well were that same shade of midnight-black, but the shine in them was calculating, cunning. Harry had a feeling this man never made any move with out first weighting all the choices.

"Why yes I am. May I ask your name?" The Headmistress seemed to mellow at the sound of the officer's voice, and Harry could commiserate. The sound was like chocolate; addictive, smooth, hard, and deep, really deep.

"Jewelerz, Colonel Jewelerz and this school has been commandeered." There was outrage at that. Students and teachers alike yelled and shouted to be heard over each other, Harry himself didn't. He truly didn't know what to think about this development. His attention was caught again by the Colonel as he raised a palm and a hush fell over the room. Harry had no clue as to how the man did it, but he knew he wanted to learn it.

"As Wizarding Britain is a member of the International Federation of Wizarding Worlds the IFWW has every right to come in and occupy Britain for its own good. They hesitated to interfere with what had previously been an internal affair of Wizarding Britain's. However, as of last night the Dark Lord Voldemort," Harry could see that Officer Jewelerz fought his disgust as the room, teachers and students the same, shuddered in fear.

"Has become an international problem. According to section 15 subsection 9 of the charter of the IFWW, it has every right to invade and occupy a member country when it is unsuited to defending itself. The IFWW troops have already taken your Ministry of Magic. By the thinking of the council, if the Ministry is corrupt, and the ministry influences Hogwarts," Again Harry saw a fleeting look of _something _pass on the colonel's face, "then Hogwarts as well is corrupt."

"So what will happen to the children? If the school is being closed where will they go to learn?" Professor McGonagall asked, her voice seemed almost frantic to Harry, but he had to have been mistaken, McGonagall never panicked.

"The Chairman of the Board of International Wizarding Education has devised and formatted a test that the children will take. The results of this test will show which of the many schools volunteering to take in new students will be best matched for the child taking the test. This test is completely impartial and unbiased, so no need to fear that your child will be suffering choices made from prejudice."

With that simple statement everything became clear to Harry. It was like he had previously been looking at the situation from far away, but now it clicked. This IFWW was closing Hogwarts. They were canceling the end of the year exams. Their grades would be an average of how they did in the class that year. All of the parents and guardians were being notified that night about what was happening; the IFWW was sending all of the students home tomorrow. Latter that summer they would receive the test and then after completing it the students would be contacted by his or her new school.

After spending all year the outcast of the school for believing and pressing that Voldemort was back, it was a novel idea that someone thought he was right. Harry was ecstatic that someone believed him. He couldn't believe that it was only his country that didn't think he was telling the truth. He was overwhelmingly sad that the cost of his being believed was the invasion of his country, the dismantlement of his home, Hogwarts, and the abuse of his friendship. For Harry had no illusions he would be going to the same school as Hermione and Ron.

A/N P.S.: It came to my attention that some corrections needed to be made desperately. Thank you Armathas for bringing these problems to the fore; chapter 2 will likewise be redone.


	2. Chapter 2: Application

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: Once upon a time there was a young woman who liked to write. Unfortunately, she did not own anything!

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**Chapter 2: Application**

Two months. Seven weeks, 49 days, 1272 hours of brimstone, fire, torture, and hell. The only consolation was that Petunia and Vernon hated him being there just as much he hated being there. They went out of their way to have as little to do with him as possible.

They had sent Dudley away to a health camp for the summer immediately after he came home. Petunia and Vernon were absolutely banned from visiting the health camp. So Vernon started working longer hours at Grunnings, he would get up early and come home late, always in a bad mood. Petunia started to leave the house more to socialize. She started suggesting that the garden club meet at other houses and she started popping up on the doorsteps of the homes of her 'friends' for tea. It was quite different then what was the norm of the past few summers for Harry.

On the weekends Vernon would take Petunia out on the town for the evening. They would go see a movie at the cinema, then dress up for a dinner at an extravagant restaurant where Vernon could flaunt his money and bad taste. Occasionally they would stay out and rent a room at a posh hotel. Petunia would come home those weekends smelling of perfume or flashing gaudy new jewels. However, just because Vernon and Petunia left didn't mean that Harry got off scot free, oh no.

His day would start before dawn. Now that his Uncle Vernon left earlier than before, Harry had to get up before dawn to make the three course breakfast that his Uncle was accustomed to. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and orange juice came first. Hash browns, sausage, and crepes are afterward. Then coffee and seconds finish breakfast. Harry has to make all of this before his uncle comes downstairs, otherwise he might find hot grease running down his back. After his uncle finishes his breakfast Harry has to wash all the dishes and then prepare his aunt's meal. That Petunia was on a rather strict diet was a given, in the time that Harry had been cooking for his relatives his Aunt had had a new diet every six days, by now he was used to it. Petunia had a fruit salad for breakfast every morning with a glass of water. The hard part was that all of the fruits had to be cut fresh every morning; his aunt could tell otherwise, then he would get smacked for cutting corners. So, many mornings he was starting his aunt's breakfast before his uncle had even begun his meal. He collected more scars of burns and cuts that summer than any previous one.

After setting out his aunt's breakfast Harry usually beat it back up to his room rather quickly. If he had done well enough they wouldn't bother recognizing him; if he didn't he would be left to stew all day until Vernon returned from his work, then he would be beat. Harry had gotten good over the years though, and while they normally found something to criticize it wasn't often his cooking.

Vernon would leave the house and, if Harry had done well enough, then Petunia would bring up his tray. Through a flap in the bottom of his door she would slide thru a grey striped pink plastic tray. On the tray would be a paper cup of water, a fruit (usually rotten), and his list of daily chores. Some days he would have to clean the attic, other days it would the garage or shed, and every other day he had to mow the lawn. He would be expected to get to work as soon as Petunia left the house around mid-morning. This was his life, he got no mail, he had no visitors, he couldn't walk passed the property line, he was watched constantly, and yet he had almost no human contact. Harry was going insane, working himself ragged just so he wouldn't dream at night.

But finally the day came when the Order was going to pick him up and take him to the Burrow. Harry sat waiting on his aunt's precious sofa, his trunk messily packed beside him with Hedwig's cage, clean and collapsed, ready to be taken through the floo. Harry had let Hedwig out earlier to fly to the Burrow, he didn't think she liked going through the floo. So, with nothing left to do Harry sat starring at the fireplace, pathetically waiting for their arrival.

His aunt and Uncle left last night for one of their evenings out on the town and had never come home this morning. Harry wasn't so surprised; his relatives hated and loathed everything magical. The last time they had met with another magical person beside Harry Dudley had to be taken to the muggle hospital because his tongue was so swollen he couldn't breath. For his relative not being here was a prudent step, they didn't know what these visitors might be capable of. Harry was definitely glad they weren't here to meet the Order; they weren't the most impressive people in the world. In fact Harry thought that the specialty troops that _commandeered_ Hogwarts were incredibly impressive.

When they did arrive, they did so with a large bang. The hearth shook, soot flew, fire flashed green, and out tumbled one pink haired witch.

"Wotcher Harry, how are you?" Even as Tonks sought to pick herself up from the floor, she tripped and fell on her face; and just as Arthur stumbled out of the floo. Harry managed to just keep in his snickers as Arthur's momentum carried him almost over the metamorphamagus. Hoping to avoid anymore collisions, Harry helped Arthur and Tonks over to the side just as Dumbledore and Mad Eye came through.

"I'm better, Tonks, now that I'm leaving this place." Harry replied admiring the smooth and efficient way Dumbledore and Moody came out the floo.

"Well Harry, this is it. Are your Aunt and Uncle around to say goodbye?" Arthur wasn't even really listening for Harry's answer though. The red-haired patriarch was looking around closely at the electronic appliances, Harry was concerned he'd mess with something and Harry would get blamed with it.

"No. They hate magic and me. They left yesterday for an evening at town and haven't gotten back yet." He still didn't think they truly understood how badly his aunt and uncle hated them.

"Oh, well, their loss." Tonks said offhandedly as she slung her arm around Harry's shoulders. After his things were safely shrunk and in his pockets, Arthur calmly went through the floo first; Dumbledore was trying to usher him forward. He really didn't like the floo, but with a shove and a whoosh he was away in green flames.

His first sight of the Burrow after the floo was of the carpet in front of the fireplace in the Weasley's living room, as it always was.

"Oh, Harry, how are you?" Harry got little to no warning before he was swept up into one of Molly Weasley's loving hugs.

"I'm fine Mrs. Weasley. Just a little disoriented." Harry replied trying to dispel her worry.

"Now how many times have I told you to call me Molly? Or better yet, Mum, hmm? How many times Harry James Potter?" She teased with a smile, but she had thwarted her own efforts. He was Harry James Potter, not Harry James Weasley. He was they son of Lily Potter nee Evans, not Molly Weasley nee Prewett. It was all good to tell him that he could call her mum, but at the end of the day she would put her own children before him. He would always be second rate. That was okay though, things like that couldn't really be changed. Besides, he would take anything he could get.

"About as many times as Ron eats in a day, Mrs. Weasley." Harry insisted, making fun of his friend pouting in the corner.

"Hey come off it mate! I'm not as bad as her!" Ron rebutted, slapping Harry on the back.

"Oh Ronald you never learn!" Hermione rebuked, "Harry baits you, and you let him!"

"I do not." However, looking around the kitchen Harry realized that the only one who didn't think Ron was being baited, was Ron himself.

"Oh yes you do!" And Hermione and Ron hadn't even been in the room together in the room for five minutes before they were at each others throat. Harry had no clue as to how they, or others, thought they could build a relationship. Sometimes, like when at the Dursley's, he loved his friends to death and would wait for hours at the edge of his bed for their next letters; of which he got none over the summer. Other times though, he wished he had friends that could spend more time then five minutes without yelling at each other. Then, after thinking that, he would go mentally slap himself. He had no family and no friends, other than Ron and Hermione, he couldn't afford to be ungrateful, he didn't deserve friends in the first place.

So with a heavy sigh he luged his enlarged trunk up the stairs to Ron's room, which he would share with him while Harry was there. He knew from experience that it would be a bad to interrupt them. Eventually they would run out of things to argue about, and when that happened they would both stalk off to rant and rave to someone else about the other. After Hermione and Ron exhausted that avenue, probably by night time, they would glare and snarl at each other until bed. Then they would wake in the morning right-as-rain. Until, that is, one of them started again.

The new school test forms came by owl that night during dinner. So, after dinner, much to the disgust of Ron, who had wanted to put it off, everyone sat back down at the kitchen table to fill out the form; while, of course, eating birthday cake. Harry didn't mind filling the forms out immediately, in fact he agreed with Hermione, the sooner he filled it out, the sooner he found out where he was going to go, the sooner he could prepare. What irked him out was when Ron would either try to see his answers or try to copy Hermione's.

"Damn it Ron! Why can't you just be truthful answer your own bloody questions!" Harry was panting by the end of his outburst and everyone froze at what they were doing when he had yelled. Harry was hardly ever angry and they rarely heard him raise his voice.

"Aww, come on mate! They're ridiculous questions! Besides don't you want us to continue going to go to school together?" Harry was saved from answering Ron's question by Molly interrupting them.

"Really Ronald! You leave poor Harry alone and sit right here!" The seat was across the table and beside his mother, so there really was no way for him to continue to cheat off Harry and Hermione.

While Harry commiserated with Ron, for some of the questions were truly ridiculous, but attempting to copy someone else's favorite color was like attempting to use someone else's name, it was just plain wrong. So, to ignore Ron's muttering and whining, Harry went back to his form. Most of the questions were short answer like: do you like traveling, or what is your favorite subject, favorite hobby, or whether or not he knew another language. They were pretty straight forward; there were just an insane amount of them. By the time they had all finished, Ginny too, it had taken them almost three hours to answer all 250 questions. As it was nearing nine at night and to late to send it out tonight, it had been mandated by the adults that they send the tests in the morning. Then they all dragged their butts to bed.


	3. Chapter 3: Letters

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: Rose are Red, Violets are Blue, I don't own anything, and neither do you!

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it, odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

A/N2: I was slightly heavy handed on the Hermione and Ron bashing, Oops!

**Chapter 3: Letters**

It only took a week to get the replies to their forms, probably because they had done it immediately and not procrastinated like everyone else. So they weren't caught in the last minute wave of tests being sent out. The acceptance letters came at breakfast, a normal post time, but that was about the only thing normal about them. The first letter was delivered in the tail of a Chinese mini-dragon*. It was a small creature, looking as though one of the king cobras of India sprouted wings and flames to breath. When it first appeared, causing a great rukus, Harry had greeted it with a hiss. He could tell he had startled the beautiful creature greatly, but it had gamely hissed a greeting back. The reply had frustrated Harry, he didn't understand it. The sound was the same, however the inflection was different. Harry deduced that it was a form of dragonese, not parseltongue.

The letter it carried was for Hermione. It was a delicate rice paper scroll sealed with blue wax and wrapped in a black silk ribbon. The coat of arms depicted a snow covered mountain topped with a circuit crown inside which resided a candle. The household was much more interested with ooing and ahhing over the mini-dragon than the relatively boring scroll. So, everyone was surprised by Hermione's girlish squeal.

"It's Fuu Chi!" When no comprehension shined in their eyes Hermione continued, exasperated. "It's the royal academy of China. At least nineteen generations of Chinese rulers have been educated there. It has been the center of magical learning in Asia for so long no one remembers when it was started. To have been accepted," Her eyes grew a little dreamy and her cheeks flushed, "Do you know what this means? To graduate from there means instant respect and admiration, it'll be hard; but totally worth it!"

Harry could tell Hermione had only paused for a moment, to gain speed for the next part of her rant, and he was just going to interrupt her, when the twins walked through the front door. Attention was diverted to them for a moment as they exchanged greetings, hugs, and food was set before them. Tales of the week were exchanged, and the twins had just asked the fateful question about Hermione's scroll, when they heard a crack of thunder and a flash of light.

Everyone in the kitchen jumped and werled at the noise, no one had ever heard anything quite like it. It was as though a massive thunderstorm was ready to erupt right above the Burrow. Ginny, having nerves of steel, or absence of commen sense as Harry believed, walked over to the kitchen window and looked out.

"Bleedin' hell!" The curse might have startled Harry, but Molly Weasley had raised six older sons. She might have never heard her daughter curse, but the instinct was there.

"Language Ginerva!" Her tone was stark and sharp, making everyone start at the unexpected.

"But Mum, it's a Storm Phoenix!" At Ginny's sudden exclamation everyone rushed to the window to see. Low and behold there it stood, gorgeous, powerful, and strong it rested in a tree right before the door to the Burrow. "What's it want?"

"Maybe it's another letter deliver?" The whisper of Ron's remark was quickly shot down and mocked.

"Another magical creature to deliver a letter? What's the probability of that? Out of nearly two hundred to two thousand different schools, two upper echelon academies would find future students here?" Hermione scoffed. If there was nothing else Hermione liked, she liked lording something she was good at over everyone else; and Harry knew it. It wasn't obvious, oh no, it was camouflaged as cold cool logic; Harry just saw deeper into her use of it.

"But Hermione, a Storm Phoenix, a rare and magical beast, just randomly deciding it wanted to nest in an area so completely opposite what is natural?" Harry could see she was turning to his own practical logic. "Close to the home of a magical family, thousands of miles away from its natural land of flash floods and tornados? It's more likely to be delivering a letter."

"I get that, now who's going to retrieve that letter?" George, the dominant twin, as Harry thought of him, posed. His question was a good one, even if the Phoenix was delivering a letter, the house wasn't stable enough for the animal to come any closer than it already was; so someone was going to have to make his or her way toward the beautiful creature.

The silence was astounding until Ronald, in all his astounding Gryffindor courage, or stupidity as Harry was coming to think, proudly told his family he would go out to see if there was a letter. So, in a move complete with a head held high and shoulders laid back, Ron calmly walked out the door and into the reign of the Phoenix. His audience, watching from the kitchen, lost sight of him quickly in the maelstrom of hail, thunder, lightning, and rain. After that the Weasleys in the kitchen, plus Harry and Hermione, stood in tense silence as they waited for Ron's triumphant return.

Then just as abruptly as it started, it left. The thunder quieted and the hail ceased. The dark rain clouds quickly receded as the Storm Phoenix sped away from the front lawn of the Burrow leaving an awestruck family, plus two, to marvel at the delivery methods of foreign schools. After swiftly returning to the dubious safety of the Burrow's kitchen Ron was bombarded with questions.

"What was it like?" "Did you get hit?" "Was it a letter delivary?" "Who's the letter for?" The last question came from Ginny, her hands shook with the excitement of the afternoon. Hastily stealing the letter from Ron's tight grip she gently turned it over, with her sudden change in expression Harry could guess that it wasn't addressed to her.

"It's addressed to you Ron." Her remark was met with flabbergasted looks on faces, even Ron's. Ginny carefully placed the letter back into her brother's hand.

"Well Ron, where's it from?" Hermione said impatiently. Harry got a bitter tasted in his mouth, Hermione may want to justify her relationship with Ron by his acceptance into an exclusive institute. He hoped he was wrong, very wrong. "Open it already slow poke!" Her teasing and gentle smile belied her harsh words as Hermione encouraged Ron to open the hide letter.

"Dear Mr. Weasley, we offer our congratulations upon your acceptance to our fine establishment; The Kraken School of Magic in Siberia!" Ron didn't even continue to read the invitation. He just turned to his family to babble his thrill at being accepted to such an exclusive school. Harry had to admit it was cool, but at some point he had stopped listening, he didn't even know why. Returning to kitchen table from the doorway where everyone seemed to have congregated; Harry froze.

Bending over the table, placing a bulky something at his place setting, was a translucent humanoid that looked to be made out of shadows. Harry's first instinct was to yell for help, but as the shadow-thing looked up and Harry's gaze was caught by a pair of soulful blue eyes. So he didn't holler for anyone, he figured if they could deal with a phoenix made of electricity and a snake that could fly and spout flames, then they could deal with a shadow person. Fading back into the dark, the shadow person left after putting the package down. For some reason Harry had the gut feeling that this was not something to share with his friends. Quickly he moved over to his seat at the table to see what had been left behind. Blinking at what he found, Harry grinned at what he found; and then the world intruded.

"Oh Harry! It's so sad you haven't gotten a letter yet! I'm sure you could apply to a school yourself. Any good academy would happily take in the Boy-Who-Lived." Hermione remarked.

"Yeah mate, you could end up going with me! That'd be grand!" Ron's tone was arrogant, as Harry supposed he felt he was allowed to be. The Kraken School was world renowned, even Harry had heard of it.

"What? So you can continue slacking off together? No, if Harry applies he'll have to promise to work extra hard." Hermione snapped, she was back to being bossy boots, she was sure to get even worse with her acceptance into Fuu Chi. Interrupting them before they could truly start yelling.

"I've gotten my letter." His calm statement was met with a riot as people shouted over each other to be positive their opinion was heard before anyone else's. Everyone was in agreement about one thing though, because they hadn't seen it delivered, they couldn't trust the letter. Harry hadn't minded the ruckus, the Burrow was always a riot waiting to happen, what he did mind was when Hermione stole the letter from his plate to try to destroy it. Harry would not stand for that. Jumping up and snatching it back from her Harry snarled.

"That's mine!" It was nearly worth the scare to see the disbelief on her face.

"But Harry, it could be dangerous! From You-Know-Who even!" she pleaded with him. Hermione obviously believed what she was doing was right, or she was a very convincing actress. Harry wanted to believe the former rather than the latter, but there was a small part of him that didn't. To Harry's growing horror he realized that part of him, the one miniscule part that still wasn't quite convinced he was a wizard, had been more and more outspoken lately. It had driven Harry's faith of Hermione to the breaking point and it was showing in his thoughts. Even so, Harry shoved the rebellious thoughts to the back of his head to contemplate on a rainy day, and considered how to reply to Hermione's grounded fear.

"True, it could be dangerous, but I don't think Voldemort would write to me on muggle stationary." That stopped the complaints cold. Voldemort would certainly not use muggle _anything_, and the envelope Harry held was definitely not wizarding. It was a muggle manila envelope upon which was written: To Harry James Potter, fourth floor bedroom, The Burrow, Wizarding Britain. To the left of the address was a coat of arms depicting a circular shield before which a sword and wand were crossed. There was some Greek lettering around the top, but Harry didn't know what any of it meant.

"Well? If your going to keep it at least open it and read it!" Ginny practically growled. She was still upset over not yet receiving a letter. Realizing that he was just starring at it, Harry moved to sit back at the table, shooting a look at everyone to make sure no one had any intentions to snatch at it again. Steadying himself, harry tore open the envelope to see that it contained several sheets of Grade-A muggle stationary parchment. Clearing his throat Harry began to read.

"Dear Mr. Potter, We here at Agoge Academy want to welcome you into our school during this uncertain time. Our goal is to teach our students to succeed at life. Do to the nature of the test you took we feel suitably comfortable that you will do well at Agoge. Because of your inability to aquire many of the necessary materials for the upcoming school year, a teacher will meet you at Manhattan International Portkey Station 11:30 am on the 25th of August to help guide you. Enclosed you will find a list of classes and the required materials for the classes. Best wishes and good luck, Headmistress Nuenva." Harry carefully placed the letter to the side, making sure to avoid putting down in any eggs or syrup. Then he began to shuffle through the papers left inside the envelope. Out came the list of classes, then the list of required materials, and then, to everyone's surprise, came out a blank schedule sheet and the list of class times. Aparently Harry would make up his own schedule this year; it felt quite exhilarating, he'd never had so much freedom in his life before.

"Oh Harry! This is incredible!" Hermione was in bliss, until she remembered the options weren't from her new school. Growing distinctly cold toward Harry she moved to the other end of the table; murmuring "the quality probably sucks". The first time Harry had ever heard her curse and it was at him, hoe disheartening. Trying not to let her jealous demeaner bring him down, he looked to the others for help. However, Ron was siding with Hermione, Mrs. Weasley was busing herself with the dishes, and the twins were already plotting at the end of the table. So Ginny slowly made her way over to Harry, while Ron and Hermione choose their own classes at the other end of the table.

"So, what do you want to do after school?" Ginny's question, even as innocently posed as it was, opened a flood gate's worth of questions. Originally in third year Harry had wanted to make his parents proud by following in their footsteps, to be an Auror. Now he wasn't sure that path was for him anymore. After the horror that was the Triwizard Tournament and then again in fifth year with the disappearance of Sirius. Even though he knew, by way of prophecy, that it would fall to him to kill Voldemort, the idea of hurting someone gave him chills; even a monster like Voldemort. If he couldn't bring himself to hurt Voldemort, someone who deserved the worst of treatment, then how was he going to someone who he may not know deserve it? Besides the psychological problems of killing someone, there was a voice in the back of his head that whispered in the dead of night that he wouldn't live past the encounter. Moreover Harry was small, barely standing in his stocking feet 5'3" and weighing less than a hundred pounds. There was also the fact that he was prone to starting at loud noises and sudden touches, certain phrases had him resisting panic attack; not that anyone knew. Unfortunately, Harry didn't believe that these were traits Auror scouts sought in new recruits. So he no longer believed that a career as an Auror was a wise choice for him; it just wasn't realistic. Looking to Ginny with slight nervousness he was just about to voice his doubts to her when Mrs. Weasley screamed.

Jumping up and around harry clenched his wand in his hand even as he felt like hiding under the table and crying. It was a good thing then that Mrs. Weasley's molester was her own son. Bill Weasley spent 98% of his time in dirty, dangerous, hot dig sites in Egypt. So the rare time he could come home were precious to the family. Harry could almost understand then when Ginny and Ron nearly bowled him over trying to get to their brother, the twins had disappeared at some point Harry noticed.

"Ugh! You've both grown so big!" As the family gathered to welcome Bill home Harry and Hermione found themselves on the outside. This was a stranger, Harry just didn't know how he would react to meeting The-Boy-Who-Lived. Harry had no reason to really worry, this was a Weasley, and thankfully it amounted to nothing. Bill was calm, cool, and collected, he was used to his mother's overbearing personality and simply shrugged it off, turning to greet the other guests of the house. "You must be Harry and Hermione, everyone's told me so much about you both." Reaching over the top of Ginny, who was clinging to her older brother, and stepped around his mother to shake their hands.

Harry's sigh of relief went unheard as he leaned forward to grasp Bill's hand. Hermione of course began to spout off all she knew of Bill, Harry now clearly understood that it was a sign of her nervousness. Harry watched carefully as Bill took in what Hermione was saying with an indulgent smile, gently correcting some of her facts. There was a gentle tapping as an owl tried to get in to deliver a message was hindered by the window. Hurrying over, so as not to be parted from her returned son to long, Mrs. Weasley let the owl in, squealing when she read the name.

"Ginny darling it's your acceptance letter!" quickly relieving her mother of the letter to read it as the rest waited impatiently to find out where she would be going for the next school year.

"Ginny just tell us already!" Hermione spat out in a rare show of aggression. But the look of disappointment that practically radiated from Ginny made everyone anxious to hear the results.

"It's Aklecta. I only got into Aklecta!" and with that Ginny burst into tears running up the stairs to her room. Mrs. Weasley followed after her only daughter worriedly.

"What's so bad about Aklecta?" Harry asked Bill, he hadn't ever heard about a school called Aklecta; but it didn't sound good.

"It's a craft school in northern Ireland. Some of the best wandmakers come out of Aklecta. The Ollivander's have never sent their sons anywhere else." Harry couldn't really tell what Bill thought of this, as he didn't know him well enough to read him.

"I think that's cool. She'll be exposed to so much more!" Harry said.

"That's my thoughts as well, but because it isn't a NEWT applicable school she won't be certified to do much else but a craft taught there; unless Hogwarts is opened up within the next three years, which doesn't look possible at this moment." Bill paused before he turned to them, " So what were you doing before I showed up?"

Finally remembering that she was supposed to be mad at Harry, Hermiona stuck her nose in the air and said, "We were choosing our classes ." then in a tiff she dragged Ron back to the table. Where Ron stupidly started an argument with Hermione while she was still mad, resulting in Ron on the business end of a thorough verbal thrashing, the boy just couldn't win.

"What was that about?" Bill's voice was soft, not like a whisper but like he was lending a sympathetic ear. So, harry spilled his hurt out to the man how was so good at being a compassionate older brother, even to those who weren't in his family.

"My acceptance letter came from Agoge Academy. Hermione is in a tiff because my new school offers three times the classes her new school does. But I really don't know what to do!" His soft exclamation was met with a quiet chuckle.

"In my experience it's best to take classes that will help in your desired field of work Though if it helps, Agoge isn't an easy school; but it is thorough."

"But that's just it! I don't know what I want to do anymore!" Harry said it very quiet, as if by admitting he didn't want to be an Auror he was smudging his parents memory. Thankfully Bill didn't feel this way.

"Well lets work this out calmly." Here he shot a look at Harry, as though to remind him they were choosing classes, not battle tactics. "If you don't know what you want to do lets keep you in the NEWT classes, that way if you want a desk job latter on you have the certification. That's five classes, not counting Care of Magical Creatures, Agoge doesn't give that class." Bill tapered off as he purused the class booklet. " Now this is a class you need to take. Your father was Lord Potter, you are Heir Potter until your seventeenth birthday; if you want to be prepared to run your estate you'll take Estate Management." Harry quickly signed on for that class. He couldn't believe that he might have ruined the only thing left of his parents just from ignorance! Harry promised himself he would do his best to excel in that class; for hid parents.

"What now? Why aren't I taking Herbology?"

"Well," Bill replied, "as for your next step I'd think about what else is useful, and I'll tell you right now Herbology isn't useful. You would be better off taking Histiculture." Harry perused the class book until he found the book Bill was talking about; Histiculture, the study of plants and their benefits. It sounded good.

"Your spells and overall magic will be better if you learn Latin. Though," Bill paused looking thoughtful, "knowing another living language never hurt me." After some debate as to the benefits of Italian versus Arabic, then finally choose French after a good convincing from Bill.

"If Latin will strengthen my magic maybe I should take Spell Crafting and Ward Building? Yes, that what I'm going to do." Harry murmured on a roll with picking a class.

Absentmindedly Harry hinted to Bill about the prophecy, "because of who I am I anticipate having a large roll in the upcoming war. I need classes to prepare me for it." Harry tried to be as nonchalant as possible, if he had to do as Dumbledore said he would he wanted to be as prepared as possible. So looking through the book Bill pointed out the defense classes Agoge gave: martial arts, dueling, and Saturday sessions of swordsmanship and archery.

"So I'll be prepared no matter what the future brings." Harry sighed, he was wearied just thinking about the classes he was going to take.

"Don't forget, you may very well end up graduating from Agoge." Bill could tell Harry hadn't thought of that by the way Harry's eyes got very wide. Harry hadn't even thought about graduating from Agoge, it just hadn't dawned on him.

\Harry leaned back to absorbed that knowledge, it didn't really change anything for him, it didn't cause some great epiphany, Harry just hadn't thought about it. He was startled out of his stuper by the dinner bell rining. "I hadn't realized we worked for so long."

"Yep and now it's chow time for big boys." Bill teased him, and suddenly as he walked away Harry had that epiphany he had been waiting for only moments earlier. He was going to make it, it might be bumpy and difficult, but he was going to make it.


	4. Chapter 4: Culture Shock

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: I have no life, therefore I own nothing.

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it, odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**Chapter 4: Culture Shock**

On the morning of August 25th Harry walked Hermione through security at a muggle airport. The entire day before she had packed and repacked, sorted then resorted, all the while ranting and raving about her new school; and Harry had to sit through all of it. Hermione finally got over her tiff with him earlier in the week after coming to the conclusion that it wasn't Harry's fault that his new school's class list was larger than her's. With the news of her apology to Harry, Ron fled the scene claiming to need to go shopping for certain items from his list; not disclosing what they were. So there Harry was listening to her nervously quote all the information she could remember about her new school; which was much more than Harry could even think about memorizing.

"Relax Hermione, it's going to be great. Your suitcase and trunk are packed, your ticket, book, and snacks are conveniently situated in your carry on. You've said good bye to your parents, your standing in front of the security gate, and your about to start on the most exciting adventure you'll ever go on. Now Get Going!" Harry laughed as he shooed Hermione on through the gate and into the great unknown. He knew, from her rants, he probably had her travel plans memorized better than she did.

She would board her flight at 10:30am; her flight would take off at 11am. By 4pm London time, if all went well, her first plane would land in JFK International Airport in New York. Hermione's next flight boarded by 6pm London time, 9am New York time, it would land and refuel in L. A. International and then take off for Tokyo International; she should be there by 7am the next day, or earlier that morning, late the next evening, Harry didn't really know. She would be picked up at her hotel in Hong Kong by one of her new professors to go shopping for the school supplies she couldn't pick up in England. Then her new professor would deliver her to the river boat she would take to the school. It would be a long and arduous journey, but at the end Hermione would be in a place that she could truly thrive in.

After seeing Hermione off Harry had to quickly make his way to the docks where Ron would be boarding _The Sweet Ocean Breeze_. It would take Ron up and over to St. Petersburg where he would spend the night, then he was scheduled to take a train to Moscow where he would meet several other Kraken School students. He was ecstatic, though he tried not to show it, that he was doing something no one in his family had ever done before. Harry was just happy that Ron was happy.

Getting to the docks from the airport was a long trip, maybe a half an hour, but when he finally found the magical dock he was so happy he was there. For no one in the Weasley family, at least no one he wrote to on a regular basis, would have found it strange that the boat Ron was taking was neon green. Not only that, but the ship he was taking was neon green with bright baby-boy-blue and lemon-yellow trimming. It was enough to make the nervous and scared Harry nearly laugh; nearly because everyone would have thought it strange if he just burst out laughing, even if Hermione would have agreed with him. It was an ugly ship.

"Harry! You made it!" Ron would have come charging down the ramp of the ship to give him a hug, which made Harry feel all warm and fuzzy inside, if he wouldn't have needed to go through the Russian security all over again. It had taken Ron nearly an hour to go through it the first time, if he had to go through it again the ship might just leave him at the docks. He wasn't going through that again, not even for his best friend. That was okay though, Harry understood; he would also be going through rigorous security in a couple of hours.

"Of course I did Ron! It was near miss though; I think Hermione would've had a panic attack if she thought it was allowed!" Harry shouted in reply. Both boys laughed as they remembered a day not so long ago when Hermione had had a panic attack and her mother had likewise taken her aside and told her in no uncertain terms 'that such behavior would not be acceptable' in a girl such as she. Harry hadn't understood what she had meant, but then Harry wasn't the one receiving the message. "Good luck and have fun!" Ron's reply was lost in the wind as the ship pulled out from its moors, starting its journey to Russia.

Harry started as he felt a finger poked him in the shoulder. George and Fred Weasley stood behind him with grins on their faces. "Harry, Brother. We are taking the entire family out to eat, including Percy the Prat, this means you must also come." Harry stared at the twin brothers. "Now, now, we know what you're going to say, and we say that you're going to come…under threat of telling mother that you're our silent partner!" Harry groaned, there was no way in all nine pits of hell that he would willingly tell that he gave her sons the money to do the very thing she didn't want them doing. Harry was doomed to lunch with the Weasley clan.

"Where are we going?" Harry nearly winced at the thought of going anywhere with the Weasley family, not that he didn't love them, but they were loud and messy.

"La Petite Tasse de thé Idiote. It's a great place, Forge and I love taking dates there!" The twins each took a side of Harry and steered him toward the Apparition point. Holding onto the twin Harry was convinced was Fred, he held on for dear life. Hopping he wouldn't end up in some weird position when they arrived at the restaurant.

Looking up at the time Harry nearly swore, it was 2:45! His international portkey left at 3pm, he'd have to run! Standing up, he got everyone's attention.

"I'm sorry but I have to go; I'll be late if I don't go now! I'll barely have time to get through security!" He joked as he quickly made his way around all of the seated Weasleys, gently rebuking all of his friends who immediately yelled that it couldn't be _that_ late! "It is though! I only have fifteen minutes to get to the Ministry, and I have to go through security!"

After finally weeding his way out of the restaurant Harry nearly ran to all the way to the Ministry; thankfully it was only down the street and around the corner. As for his travel plans, Harry only knew that his portkey left at 3pm London time, he would arrive in New York 11:30 pm their time. He would be met at the Manhattan Magical Transit Station by a professor of his new school; they would take him to get his school supplies.

Arriving at the Ministry he sped through security and registration, which seemed suspiciously easy but he didn't mind so long as he got thru in time to catch his portkey. Amazingly, he did. It took him a little while to find his portkey area though; there were nearly a hundred portkey stations. Eventually he found the sign marked 'Manhattan International Transit Station' he could never have possibly been happier to see the portkey; a large black and orange sombrero, it was hideous in Harry's opinion. It was just as he touched the hat that he remembered why he hated portkeys; then with a horrible gut wrench he was away.

When the nausea subsided and he found himself wondering out of the room he appeared in all Harry could do was gasp and stare in awe. The Manhattan Magical Transit Station was not just a work of genius, but a work of art. It was a 24hr, state-of-the-art, transportation hub that continually had people coming and going. The lobby was magnificent; a three story doom was lined with what had to be nearly three hundred gargoyles. All of them wore such scary expressions that even in the middle of the day they played with Harry's mind. The walls were covered in murals depicting the history of America. The floors were splatter painted with neon colors. It was all very impressive to a 'small town' boy.

When Harry looked up he was overwhelmed by the different types of beings. Humans with black skin, brown, white, yellow; creatures with wings, scales, tails, and horns it was all very different than the isolated medieval magical community he came from. Sometimes he knew what he was seeing other times he couldn't even guess.

"It is very different from London, is it not Mr. Potter?" Spinning around when he heard his name he found himself starring at a giant. Standing nearly two heads taller than Harry the man had sickly pale skin and bad hygiene. His finger nails curved into deadly claws and thick fangs peaked over thin lips as his hairless head reflected light. "I am Vladimir Dragscovf, from Agoge. I am to be your guide today." Going against his instincts, which screamed at him to run away, and praying he'd live through the day, Harry shook the hand offered.

"Good Morning Sir, where are we headed first."

With a dangerous smirk Professor Dragscovf replied. "By order of the Headmistress, I am to escort you through The Market to gather your supplies. After that I'll drop you off at your hotel, and someone else will pick you up in the morning to get on the train." Turning down the hall and through the crowd Harry followed him through to a street that was thoroughly magical.

The Market was just as overwhelming as the transit station, just as many different types of beings and just as impressive. Except, where the transit station was all uniformly done by one designer; the Market was a hodge-podge of cultures and styles. Roman columns next to gothic arches and exotically bright colors, baby-boy-blue trim with Pepto-Bismol-pink siding. In Diagon Alley, when the stores got higher than three stories they started leaning over. Here in the bright airy Market some of the stores went six to eight stories tall without even changing design!

"Welcome to the Market Mr. Potter, now we have places to go, things to buy, and people to see." With that Harry followed Dragscovf, down a few storefronts. _The Jean Genie_ was clothier, just as its name suggested, but there would be no forgetting this place among the ten million other clothiers of the world. Its Taj-Muhal like architecture made it unforgettable.

The saleswoman who greeted them at the door was familiar with the professor in an obvious way. "A new student Vlad?" The dark skinned woman asked as she exchanged light hugs with him. "Well, no need to worry child. Mama Dasa will take care of you!" With the clear intention of trying to make him relax Dasa led him to a curtained off section of the storefront. Behind the curtain was a raised platform much like the one he was used to in Britain; and much the same way as at any other clothier, as soon as Dasa let go of it the tape measure was wrapping around him in a most intimate manner. "Let's see, you shall need a full set of uniform robes, winter and summer." She paused a finger resting on her upper lip while in thought. "Child, are all of your clothes in such a manner? For if so, you'll need an entirely new wardrobe!"

Harry hesitated to say anything, going over numbers and calculations in his head. He knew he had cash to burn, as the saying went, but how much was a whole wardrobe going to cost him? Looking down at the ragged state of his clothing, Dudley's cast-offs actually, Harry caught sight of the ring on his finger. A four-part platinum puzzle ring sat at the base of his right ring finger, archaic Latin scroll work engraved in gold followed the path of the ring, forming words as old as time, the Potter Family Motto. _Veneratio quod Officium est Potter Via. Muneris, non Palma, est vultus pro. Diligo, non Cruor, ero habitum Altus. _Harry didn't know what it meant, but it reminded him that his family's wealth was second only to the Malfoy's; and his was older, much older.

"Nothing gaudy please Ms. Dasa." Taking the hesitant response as the permission it was Madam Dasa laughed with glee.

"No child, nothing too gaudy for you. Gem colors Mama Dasa thinks, greens and browns, earth tones too." She paused as she circled, "Mama Dasa will have muggle and wizarding styles ready for you. Fancy and casual, nothing too flashy; yes, when you return it will all be ready for pick up. Now go, Vlad will be rather impatient." Pushing Harry off the platform she ushered him into the main store where Professor Dragscovf was waiting just as Ms. Dasa had predicted, impatiently.

"Finally, you're finished. I assume we'll be back to pick it all back up when we go to leave. Then if everything's wrapped up here we can go on." Dragscovf's irritated tone of voice washed over Harry as he reached the door distracting him from fully understanding the fast paced speech until the professor was nearly to him in the crowd. Running to catch up to him Harry barely had time to see the outside of the building of their next stop before following his guide in; though the name, while clever, didn't leave him guessing.

_Red Ink and Rewrites_ was a bookstore. Like the Jean Genie all it took was some creativity to guess what was inside, but Harry didn't need to, by the time he was safely inside the store, hidden away from the bustle of Magical Manhattan, he had already lost sight of his guide. Harry wasn't worried though, for all the professor's gripping and odd behavior Harry didn't think his guide would leave him without him. So instead he began looking for his textbooks.

Reaching into his back pocket Harry pulled out the list of supplies that he needed for the classes he chose. Flipping the pages of parchment he stopped once he saw the list of texts he needed, none of which were available at *Flourish & Blotts. However, after growing up with Hermione, Harry knew how to look for a correct book. Starting with the nearest aisle Harry searched for his potions textbook: Salves, Balms, and Potions: The Good, Bad, and Disgusting written by Aaron Stille. The book was, unfortunately, on the top shelf and after straining to reach it for several minutes he finally felt someone come up behind him and reach up to get it. Spinning around to face the man at his back his heart nearly stopped when he saw the spitting image of an older Draco Malfoy standing behind him.

"Hello there, I'm Dionysius Abirnathie." The young man was pleasant enough but Harry would never feel comfortable to casually be around the man. He knew how close pureblood families could be, Abirnathie was probably a second cousin or something; Harry just didn't want to find out he was right.

"Thank you" Harry paused he didn't know what to do the man was blocking him in. Then he saw it, for a split second Abirnathie's arm shifted up, over Harry's head, and that was he needed to escape. Mumbling an "excuse me" he ducked under and was out of the aisle before the other had even realized he had gone.

Quickly, Harry gathered together all of the textbooks he'd need for the next year. It was an extremely long list. He found The Defense of the Dark by Billy Crow and Encroaching Upon the Light by Jane Allen at the back of the store in the 'outdated texts' pile. From what Harry had skimmed from them they were much more up to date then what they had been using at Hogwarts. He found similar in regards to his others texts: Charmed, I'm Sure by Alicia Vactroph, Simple Upkeep: Charms for the Household Master by Norsh Kale, Ancestors of the Brave: a book of Lineages by Dana Cass, and Wizards and Witches: The Good, The Great, and The Infamous by Hash & Kay. As much fun as he had going over their clever and funny titles he had to speculate the reasoning for some the places in the store that he found his books. The easiest to find were the textbooks for French and Latin, Learning French and Learning Latin by Slavid Nache were across the aisle from each other and The Romans and How They Made It Great by Doug Reve was in the new releases sections at the front of the store. Now Harry spent fifteen minutes looking for his last three textbooks before he found them in the back of the store, across from the 'outdated texts' bin, on the 'ancient texts' shelves. With Useful Plants and their Benefits by Diana Foogot in one hand, The Ward Builder's Bible (which curiously had no author) in the other, and A Look at the Beginning by James D. Song under his arm Harry had one last stop before he could check out.

Over the previous years Harry had had it drilled into his thick skull that he wasn't worth much, certainly not enough to actually splurge on. Everything he owned was 'Petunia' quality; meaning that his Aunt Petunia would have to okay his owning it or it got commandeered. That meant that if it was nice quality, pretty, or fancy enough to warrant the attention of the Dursleys, then he couldn't get it. They wouldn't let him keep it. Now however, with him stay in the Americas for the next several months there was no way for Petunia or Vernon to find out if he splurged a little. So with this in mind, Harry wandered over to the paper and stationary section.

It was an ache inside of him that had almost always been there, a guilty pleasure so-to-speak, one that stemmed from before the beginning. He could barely remember a teacher in kindergarten that had helped him form his letters. He hadn't had the same teachers as Dudley, sure Dudley bullied him, and bullied his teachers into bullying him, but none of his scare tactics had worked on one teacher: Ms. McCoy. All throughout elementary school he had had Ms. McCoy to rely on, she had known how hard it was for him at the Dursleys. So over the years she gave him something else to rely on, something that would never fail him, never change, something he could completely control: words.

She had taught him that no one could influence how he wrote. If he wrote sloppily and got points off it was his fault, no one else's. If he followed the rules then the marks that he put on paper could become works of art. Not just in the stories they told or the 'pictures' they 'painted', but the very letters could become works of art. Ms. McCoy had taught Harry that there were many different types of 'word-art' as they called it. Calligraphy was the use of special pens to make the letter look a special way, so to Illumination used paint as a medium to literally paint a picture using the words as a base. 

Harry had been amazed; he had thought it magic, their very own special brand of magic.

Harry had keep it secret from the Dursleys, for in his childish way he hadn't believed that they couldn't take it from him. In Hogwarts he had tried, tried to use the gift that his beloved teacher had imparted upon him. It was hard though, his paper was of poor quality, and he hadn't known how to properly hold the quill to make the marks the way he wanted. Then his first essay had come back a 'T' for troll because the teacher couldn't read it and many of those he had been starting to call friends laughed at him for trying so hard. Then Harry got wrapped up in things, and the longer he stayed away from the Dursleys the less he thought he needed his 'art', he wasn't hanging on by a thread anymore so why did he need it? Then, as he got older, with no loving reminders from Ms. McCoy, the very subject that had save his soul was forgotten by him.

It just so happened that at the beginning of the summer Harry had a chance meeting with Ms. McCoy outside the London train station. They had exchanged standard pleasantries before she quietly asked him if he was okay. When Harry had replied that it been a tough last few months, she had been sympathetic replying that her line was always open for a call from him if he needed a listening ear. When Harry had hedged that he didn't know if he was comfortable with that Ms. McCoy had laughed. Teasing him lightly she had told Harry that he should write about it if he didn't want to talk about it, she at least knew he could do that! Harry might have left his old teacher there with no intention on ever following through on what he had said, but she had left with a thought. A thought he had dwelled on every second the entire summer.

So that was how it came to be that he spent fifteen minutes mulling over first the type and grain of parchment, then the color and viscosity of inks, and finally the grip of quills. Harry ended up with slightly above standard parchment, inks, and quills for everyday use. What he held dearly to his chest though was a brown leather bound journal and a set of five black calligraphy pens. Ms. McCoy had been right, if he couldn't get himself to talk about it than he could write about it. Stepping away from the shelf Harry moved to the cashier, it wouldn't be good to spend all day here.

"There you are! Took your own sweet time aren't you?" Professor Dragscovf grumbled as Harry paid. Luckily, as part of the IFWW America used the Gringotts as well, so all he had to do was pass the cashier his Gringotts card. "Come, come boy we have places to go, people to see, things to buy!"

The rather scary professor ushered Harry out the door and down the street. Passing all of the colorful and exotic people on the road Harry dodged tails and wings as they passed to the front of a cauldron shaped building. The cauldron was lent on its side, the outer wall entirely gone and replaced by a thin film. This film, Harry saw, allowed for an easy exchange of clean and dirty air, and fresh light, without damaging any of the products being sold.

Harry was impressed by the organization of the store when he found what he was looking for quickly, much quicker than anywhere else, a grade 6 level potions kit rested in between a gardener's kit and a magical first aid kit. At the end of the aisle was a muggle self cheek out scanner, rather convenient; he scanned the box, paid with his Gringotts card, and then took his receipt. Looking up he managed to catch sight of his guide, the creepy professor was leaving a back room of the shop. He was black and blue and bloody, there was a wild look in his eyes, and tension in his shoulders. His very presence at the opposite side of the store was making Harry's instincts scream '_Run_' and his magic bubble to the fore. Deciding to not say anything regarding the professor's appearance, Harry followed him out and onto the Market Square.

For once the professor wasn't speeding away to the next stop on his shopping list; but taking it slow and easy, as though trying to calm down. Harry didn't think it would work because as soon as they got to the corner of Dreamscape Drive and Nightmare Lane Dragscovf tensed up all over again. Taking in the storefront Harry had to feel almost sympathetic. Boxes so entirely packed in the windows that they looked bricked in, the glass itself was dingy and dirty, and the paint on the door was painted and chipped. Harry almost refused to go in. This store contradicted the mood all the other before it had set; he didn't want to go in.

Then Harry read the equally faded, chipped, and dingy sign hanging lopsided under the window: _Ollivander's Focuses_. Suddenly, Harry wanted a closer look.


	5. Chapter 5: Possession

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: I have no life, therefore I own nothing.

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it, odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**Chapter 5: Possession **

Harry remembered being quite scared to approach the _Ollivander's _in Britain, which was a wand store, but here in a different culture and society where they did things so differently, Harry wondered how different was this _Ollivander's_? Being shoved into the store before the Professor was an unpleasant experience. The wards tingled over his skin and pulled at his hair and clothes, like static electricity. Entering the shop was like entering another world, the shop was two to three times the size on the inside as it was on the outside and the ceiling went on forever.

Unlike the _Ollivander's_ from Britain where the inside really was as messy as the outside, this store was impeccably kept. There was no dust anywhere to be found, not on the thin long boxes lining the shelves on the walls, nor on the small square boxes locked in the moving glass cabinets on either side of the main aisle leading to a wooden table at the back of the brightly light store. Given the organization of the store and the brightly lit, yet still mysterious air about the shop, Harry decided to re-think his opinion. This business fit in with all the others in The Market.

Looking toward the table at the back he caught sight of some peculiar items near the table. Lying on what looked like muggle wrapping paper holders were varying lengths and types of wood. While on the other side different styles of bags and trunks hung from pegs and sat on shelves respectively. Harry had no idea as to why such things would be found in a 'focuses' store.

"Well Mr. Potter my uncle tells me you are quite the adventurer." The suddenness of the comment startled Harry into spinning around, clutching his wand before him. His guide, the impatient being, had left him alone with a stranger, again. "Pardon me, sir, I didn't mean to startle you. I had thought you knew I was here. Again, my apologies." Pushing off the wall he had been leaning against near the door, the man, older than Harry but still rather young, walked past while Harry stuttered a reply.

"I-it's okay. I-I think my guide knew, he is gone again." After a gestured 'come' from the store clerk Harry joined him at the work table in the back of the store.

"Ahh, yes, Vladimir Yadkin Dragscovf; a teacher at Agoge Academy he was the first of his kind to hold any sort of reliable job. Now of course there are much more, some of his fellows are even hired as bodyguards. Though I believe they're just inviting trouble. I've been happily proved wrong." Fumbling behind the table in a set of drawers Harry had missed in his first perusal of the room, Oleander Ollivander, as his apron identified him, gave him unsolicited information.

"Mr. Ollivander, what is Professor Dragscovf?"

"Why Harry he's a true blood vampire. But enough with the Professor, take this paper and write your name on the dotted line." Taking the blank paper Harry wrote his name on the dotted line with the blood quill, he had recognized it from last year. Yet unlike Professor Umbrage, who cackled in glee at his pain the store clerk quickly brought a cotton pad to bear on the wound and a bandage to wrap around his hand. "Now I hate having to do that, you never know what kind of response you're going to get. I've had quills explode and vampires go crazy. Probably why your teacher left." _Hmm_ing and _haw_ing over what the quill had written on the paper, Harry tried to absorb what he had been told. It didn't work well.

"Why did you have to do that Mr. Ollivander?" Harry asked, wanting to know if he had suffered for a good reason, he got an absent minded reply.

"I have over two thousand types of magical articles, it would've taken a while to go through them all; and I assumed you wanted to leave here within the next year." Still reading over the list the quill had given him Oleander directed him to his left, "Pick out a bag we're going to fill it." That was all he said.

Not really knowing what to pick Harry critticly eyed all of the bags hanging beside the table. Appearing in all shades of colors, styles, and fabrics there were enough for hundreds of people, for Harry found that for every time the rack made a complete circuit the bags changed, and if he wanted to go back he just moved the rack counter-clockwise. It really did fascinate him. However Harry knew that if he spent any more time ogling the rack he might be yelled at for wasting time. Lord knows everyone else would have, there were just so many options!

"Harry, might I impart some advice?" Again Oleander had startled him from his thoughts, Harry really had to fix that. "Why don't you use process of elimination?" At the odd look Harry was positive would be glued to his face by the time he left the store, Oleander came over to help. "These are MagiKit bags. Traditionally, these were bags that a witch or a wizard collected their entire lives and then they would pass it down to their children. It hasn't been that way in a long time. Now, you are going to put everything you will ever need to do magic in this bag and you will keep it till your end of days. What color do you like best?" With a twist of his wrist all of the bags on the rack became swatches of color.

Harry stared at the colors for a moment, and then he started, taking it one step at a time. "I don't like the bright colors, maybe something neutral?" Immediately all the bright or garish colors were removed from the rack leaving only neutrals. Perusing several colors Harry chose a light brown, which was really tan, and went on to style.

"So do you like big bags, small bags, or medium bags? Remember though you may want to spell-proof it so chose wisely." Taking Oleanders advice to heart Harry immediately dismissed anything too big or that might sag, realizing that these bags might be difficult to carry. Harry looked for bags with wide straps, so that it might be easier to carry. Just as Harry was dismissing a rather large bag from the line he caught sight of the one he wanted. A leather satchel one foot by one foot it tied on the front, left, and right sides with braided leather strings looped around cream bone buttons. Flipping open the sides Harry found that the front was covered in pockets. On the right side of the bag, the pocket was just inside the flap, it was ideal for holding his wand; and the series of pockets that crossed the side of the bag that didn't flap over, the pockets next to his wand, were obviously made for knives.

"Your ritual knives should be kept there, with the sharpening stone kept in the pocket just underneath. Then on the other side," Oleander pointed to the side with that did fold down. "you can keep vials of things, such as fairy dust and were-venom." At Oleanders suggestion Harry looked at the inside of the bag, it was slightly expanded from what it was on the outside, not much, but enough, and Harry loved it.

_Beep. . . Beep. . Beep. Beep. Beep-Beep-Beep!_ With the last annoying beep Harry slammed his hand into the alarm clock next to the bed in his hotel room. Stretching lazily Harry paused and sprung from bed as he remembered the events planned for the day. It was seven-thirty; his new guide would pick him up at eight-thirty, train boarding started at nine o'clock, and the train left at ten. So by eight-thirty he had to be washed, dressed, and packed. He could do this, he would do this and he would do it without any annoying know-it-alls hovering over his shoulder! With that Harry started his day.

By the time eight o'clock came around Harry had finished his showering, shaving, and brushing his thick hair. All he had to do now was get dressed and pack. With trepidation Harry slid on the nylon undershirt and shorts, both of which clung to his wet skin. Next on was a slate-grey turtleneck, thin and soft, but incredibly warm. Then came on the pants, thick, black, and cotton, Harry tucked the turtleneck into them, just as Mama Dasa had told him to. After that he slide on the black leather belt, and over the turtleneck went a black leather jacket. It was tight but not restraining. Silver buttons were snapped into place and slate grey socks went on his feet, hidden by the black leather knee high boots that he tucked his pants into. Over everything went a slate grey outer robe with a hood and slate grey gloves.

When Harry finished and looked into the mirror he almost didn't recognize himself. It was with nerves that Harry realized that this was real. He was in America; he was going to go to an American academy, and he was without anyone he knew. He had at least known Hagrid, now he didn't know anyone. Before he could get depressed there was a knock on the door.

On the other side of his hotel door was a young man, vaguely his age, dressed almost identically to Harry. The only exceptions were that there was a double border of color on his slate grey robes and there were two symbols on either breast of his chest. The other boy was at least a head taller than him and his dark hair was stylishly cut and spiked, his glasses were thin pieces of red plastic that hid his blue eyes. Harry blushed as he ducked his head, he cursed himself for finding his sexuality at such an inopportune time.

"Mr. Potter I presume?"


	6. Chapter 6: Starting the Train Ride

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: I have no life, therefore I own nothing.

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it, odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**A/N: I'm Warning you guys, from this point on there is a massive amount of bad language. It's only in dialogue, I'm a firm believer that the English language has much better adjectives than F*** this and F*** that; however it keeps the characters in character.**

**Chapter 6: Starting the Train Ride **

Harry slouched into his seat in the compartment. The train to Agoge was vastly different than the Hogwarts' Express. For one, this train was not painted an obscenely bright color. A second was that this train was much more modern than the Hogwarts' Express. It was a passenger train, a type the muggles called a 'bullet train', and it would get the students they picked up around the country to the school within twelve hours.

The students were also quite different. They were all races, species, and ages. It was quite different then what Harry was used to. The noise level was well above what was respectable for inside voices and the older boy in front of him had a tail and wings. Every time he turned around, which was often, Harry had to duck, if not the wings, then the tail. He had yet to be hit but Harry was sure it was only a matter of time.

"Is this seat taken?" Harry was startled out of his thoughts by a vaguely familiar voice. Turning to greet the man who had inquired after the seat next to him Harry was quite taken aback. Of all the thousands of people who must be taking this train, and indeed the millions of people who inhabit the country of America, Colonel Jewelerz had to sit in the seat next to him. Not knowing how to react, or, in fact if he should, Harry simply replied to his question as though he didn't know who the Colonel was.

"No.", and just as Harry was thinking to continue, and it looked as though the Colonel was going to comment, both men were interrupted.

"Good. I'd hate to have to leave your asses on your own. Lord knows I'm not continuing and Heaven only knows what you fuckers would get into without my guiding presence." The tone was firm and slightly sarcastic. Harry's ears had turned red at the woman's language; Harry had never heard a woman use such foul language before. The British Wizarding World had had a rather conservative view on women and their place in society. When he had first heard about the women's activists groups who supported married women working and female Aurors he had first assumed that it had been a muggleborn influence. Now he wasn't so sure.

Just as Harry was turning to greet the others in the Colonel's group he felt a swish of wind before the smack of scales hitting skin. He winced, waiting for the throb of a rising welt or the zap of tender nerves, feeling neither he turned to see the Colonel had caught the offending appendage and was holding it in a very tight grip. "I think you owe my companion an apology." Each word was slowly enunciated, as though carefully thought out, and each sound was savored by Harry's ears. It was truly decadent.

"Dude, I'm sorry. Now let go of my tail man." The young man was older than Harry but younger than the Colonel, which wasn't hard to do. The problem the other student had wasn't his age though, it was his attitude; even Harry could tell that the Colonel was itching to hit the punk.

"Don't Alex, he wasn't sincere. You should twist it until he is." A more than slightly morbid smile had crossed the face of one of the men sitting across from him. Trim mouse brown hair curled around a tan face with blue eyes, the curt features of his face made his dark smile stand out even more. "Or you could just chop it off and he won't ever have this problem again."

Freaking out at the thought of someone taking such a liberty with his appendages the guy in front of them cleanly apologized and escaped with his things and his friends. Harry was positive that if some stranger had just sworn to chop off one of his appendages he would not want to stay around for tea, but he hadn't been threatened so he stayed in his seat. Subtly he watched as the section of the train he was in, the top half of the ninth section from the engine car, filled with men and women in grey-green uniforms. All the passengers surrounding him had the same starched, pressed, and official look to them; more dignified than his own uniform. It was almost as though they were proud to wear their uniforms.

Harry's contemplation of the surrounding people was stalled when a young man in the Agoge school uniform stepped into the carriage. All conversation ceased. Clearing his throat the student spoke, "I'm looking for a Mr. Harry Potter; I need to take him to be registered."

"What's that?" Harry wasn't that concerned, he didn't think that he would be kidnapped in such a busy place, but he didn't leave his seat either.

"It's a simple process dear. This boy, Warden Jacobs, is going to take you to the teacher's car. Once there your magical signature will be analyzed by a crystal ball and you will be given your Troupe and Coven designations. It won't hurt at all, and then you come back here to your seat, your stuff, and a nice cup of coco. How 'bout that?" The smooth voice of the woman that sat behind him relaxed his tense shoulders and soothed his nerves. She seemed like someone he could trust.

So he squirmed his way past the Colonel sitting in the seat next to him and the thirty odd green-grey bodies between him and the exit. Once he was at the exit he greeted the young man waiting for him. A young man that looked distinctly upset at being called a boy. "Hello, sir." Harry tried to be as polite as possible; the last thing he wanted was to start a fight.

He didn't need to worry though, the older boy's tension melted away like a spell had been cast. "No need to be so formal. I am Warden Joshua Jacobs and you are Mr. Harry James Potter. I am here to not only to guide you to the teacher's car but to also answer any of your questions. Now, do you have any?"

Harry thought as they walked. Up and down staircases, forward through cars, Harry didn't really pay attention. "I don't really know what to ask. I know very little about the school, perhaps you could just tell me about it?"

With a smile Warden Jacobs began, "Well to begin with Agoge is an AllEduOp school. An All Education Option school is a school that a child can go to for all their educational needs. It starts in Pre-school and kindergarten, these classes are grouped together to be called 'Little Agoge'. Anyone can enroll their child in Little Agoge, just as anyone can be enrolled to Primary Rule. These are the classes for ages seven years to eleven years. The next grouping of years is 11 years to 18, referred to as 'Agoge Academy'. This is where enrollment gets tricky. There are tests that must be taken and essays that have to be turned in and after all the written junk all students have a personal interview with a member of the 'Core Staff'. Then if you get in, hurrah, you're in for the toughest years of your life. Most students graduate Agoge with several credits toward a future license or Masters. The Agoge Masters and Certification program covers nearly two thousand career choices and five thousand class options; we call this part 'Agoge University'. Most, if not all, Agoge Academy graduates continue on to Agoge University. Of course there are only 3,600 students enrolled in Agoge Academy, while there are over 30 thousand students at the university level."

Harry mulled over that in awe, that was the enrollment rate at Hogwarts times twelve! Harry doubted he had seen so many people when he had gone to the World Quidditch Cup! It would certainly be scary. "So do we all stay in the same school? That seems a bit tedious."

Warden Jacobs laughed, "It certainly would be, wouldn't it? No, not all the levels of the school go to the same building. In fact, Little Agoge and Primary Rule aren't even in Di'Rouk, they're in Sanston City. Agoge University is a sprawling campus that includes one mess building with four cafeterias, nine primary buildings, four secondary buildings, and eight dormitories. Across the city lays Agoge Academy; composed of four buildings, with two mess halls, and four dormitories scattered across campus."

"Then how do the teachers keep track of everyone? Do you have perfects? Or something else?"

"No, silly, that would be too much for them to do. It starts in Primary Rule with the eleven year olds. Teachers pick helpers to keep everyone in line, these special kids are called Minders. In University you have Dorm Mothers and Dorm Fathers who keep their students in line; it's usually an older student. Now in Agoge Academy it's a bit different. Students are first broken up into Troupes according to their skills and personality. There are six Troupes: Wiccas, Magicians, Warlocks, Wizards, Shamans, and Specialists. Then they are assigned to a Coven. Each Coven has two to three members from each Troupe resulting in anywhere from 12 to 18 members. Students will study, relax, and play in their Coven Common room, sleep in the rooms joined to the Common area, and prepare private snacks or meals in their Coven Kitchen; members of other Covens are allowed to spend time together, but they can't go to each other's rooms. Covens can be co-ed. Keeping each Coven in order is a Warden, like me, and over a group of Wardens, usually three to four, are Warlords. Warlords report directly to an assigned core teacher." Pausing to make sure Harry was keeping up, Warden Jacobs continued. "I am a member of the Wizard Troupe, which means I take primarily Wizarding classes. I am also the Warden of my Coven, Kail Coven, and I report to Warlord Evan, who reports to Professor Loreen, the head of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Department."

Harry sighed and rubbed his head, "This is a lot to take in."

Warden Jacobs laughed, "Oh, I haven't even gotten to the MiliOffs yet!" He ushered Harry through another doorway, this one was dark red. It was a very different color than the industrial grey of the rest of the train. Attached to the door in dried red ink that had dripped down was a sign and Harry read, 'Disturb at your own risk' with a hint of anxiety. What kind of teacher would post a sign like that? Then he snorted, who was he joking? Snape would love to have a sign like this!

Pushing past the door and into the teacher workroom, Warden Jacobs walked straight through to a curtained off cubby on the other side of the room. As they entered a woman looked up from her very big book, a woman that could give Trelawny a run for her money in eccentrics. Harry mentally groaned, well time to hear more threats against my life.

"Now, Harry, this is Professor Rue. Professor Rue is the divination teacher in charge of deciding who goes where; after all, your entire life can be mapped from a tea cup!" Shoving Harry down into a seat in front of the seer Warden Jacobs stepped back.

"It's very nice to meet you Mr. Potter, if you would place your palm on this crystal, we'll see if we can't get you settled." she put her book away and cleared the table for room to place the rather massive crystal she had taken from what seemed like nowhere.

Placing his palm on the crystal it glowed for a moment, corresponding with a pulsing glow from the giant book Professor Rue had had on her lap earlier. Swiftly removing his hand from the crystal as soon he was told it was allowed, Harry waited for the verdict.

"Hmm, interesting choice, considering where you are from; though, perhaps not." Peering through the glasses at the edge of her nose she gently closed the book she had been contemplating. "The Book has placed you in Troupe Warlock and in the Coven Kruil. Certain adjustments must be made to your schedule. Let's see." Snatching a paper that had appeared from nowhere, much like the crystal, Professor Rue scratched some things out and wrote some things in. "Now, I've taken you out of Potions and Histiculture; you'll get that information in Warlock Basics. Also, Dueling and Martial Arts can be combined in Physical Arts. Your French class will also have to be replaced by your Soul Tongue. I can give you a quick trick to finding it on the way to Agoge, then you can rectify the schedule on campus." Handing him the changed schedule and a pamphlet on Soul Tongues, Professor Rue then shoved Warden Jacobs and he out of the cubicle.

Standing outside the teachers caboose, where they had appeared after being shoved out of the closet where they had met Professor Rue. "Umm, Warden?"

"Yes Harry?"

"What's a Soul Tongue?"

Opening the door to the cab with his stuff in it, Harry tumbled through the door. Now that he knew what they grey-green uniformed men and women were, MiliOffs, he was more than a little intimidating. These men and women were the best the United States had to offer. They were Special Ops and Officers who were paid to take classes, sometimes give them, at Agoge to learn more than they had previously known. Some of these guys had come back to take mastery level courses to end up brewing potions or moving storms for the Army, and all of them had killed.

Trying to be careful on his way back to his seat, Harry accidently tripped falling into the middle of the aisle and into the lap of one of the MiliOffs, and not one of the nicer ones.

"Get the Hell off me you Fag!" Standing up and shoving Harry off his lap the MiliOff grew visibly angry really fast; his face going from red to purple his fists clenching and the vein in his forehead popping out. As Harry stuttered out apologizes and fumbled with getting up the rather large man continued to fume and grow even madder. Those around him weren't helping either; they tossed crumbs and jeered insults, both at him and at the MiliOff. They insulted them and insinuated horrible things about why he lay on his back beneath the man and why the man let him. Just as Harry was sure the man would punch, he had indeed pulled his arm back for the strick, his savior intervined.

"Enough." The word was quiet. It wasn't shouted, nor was it very forceful, said almost as though in casual conversation. What was behind the word was a whole other story. A wave of dense raw magic had followed the word on its travel through the cabin. It had left Harry's skin tingling and the hackles on the back of his neck were raised. He had the distinct urge to lie on his back and show the Colonel his tummy, for it was most definitely was the Colonel, or to lean back, spread his legs and show him his neck. Harry didn't though, he knew that was the wrong way to react and these gentlemen would surely not like the show.

"But Boss—ˮ The MiliOff that Harry was positive was planning how to kill him most efficiently was cut off in the middle of what he said by a spike in the Colonel's aura. Colonel Jewlerz had not even turned to acknowledge the other man and the brawl that was just about to take place, he simply continued to carve the block of wood in his hands. No one thought him harmless, for no matter how innocent he sat his magic swirled around him in a visual helix pattern. It was a beautiful sight, the colors of the magic, a base of sapphire blue with streamers of royal purple and flashes of emerald green, were a rare sight to behold, most people didn't even have enough magic to show when enraged. The Colonel*, though, he had enough magic and training to expose it at will, Dumbledore didn't even do that.

"No 'Buts' Hendersin, back down or fall down." Never once looking up at Hendersin he still knew when the large MIliOff sat down, because a moment latter he stood up. All six feet of him. The Colonel calmly walked down the aisle to where Harry was still sprawled inelegantly on the floor. Crouching down he offered Harry his hand. Taking it Harry was carefully pulled up to standing. "Careful, you were bumped on the way down." Like someone had flipped a switch pain started to throb through from a gash on his cheek he had only just noted. Gently he was led to their seats where he was sat down and where the Colonel cautiously dabbed a salve someone had supplied onto the cut. "There now, no need to bruise that beautiful face. What's your name?"

His rich deep voice lulled Harry into calm he didn't think he could get out of. "Harry Potter, sir." Completely ignoring the whispers that started as soon as someone connected the dots, Harry frowned at the flinch the Colonel couldn't suppress.

"Don't worry about him Sweetthing, he's just worried that you'll be too busy planning revenge on him for closing your school, to give him a legitimate chance." It was the woman from before back with her southern drawl and quirky smile. "Now, my name's Louisa Lork; Major Lork, US Army, and if Smarty—Pants over there were to get his head out of his-" She was quickly cut off by a caramel colored hand that slapped itself over her mouth.

"Alexandre Gregori Jewlerz, Colonel Jewlerz, Master War Mage, US Army."

*I'll try not to make the Colonel very Gary Stu-ish, but I think I can handle flirting the line.


	7. Chapter 7: Bad Impressions

**The Road Less Taken**

Disclaimer: I have no life, therefore I own nothing.

A/N: This story is heavy AU. If you don't recognize it, odds are it's mine. I don't mind sharing, as long as you ask.

**A/N: I'm Warning you guys, there is an amount of bad language now. It's only in dialogue, I'm a firm believer that the English language has much better adjectives than F*** this and F*** that; however it keeps the characters in character.**

Chapter 7: Bad Impressions

"_Don't worry about him Sweetthing, he's just worried that you'll be too busy planning revenge on him for closing your school, to give him a legitimate chance." It was the woman from before back with her southern drawl and quirky smile. "Now, my name's Louisa Lork; Major Lork, US Army, and if Smarty—Pants over there were to get his head out of his-" She was quickly cut off by a caramel colored hand that slapped itself over her mouth._

"_Alexandre Gregori Jewlerz, Colonel Jewlerz, Master War Mage, US Army."_

"What's a War Mage?" Harry didn't really know why, but his question had evoked a full toothed smile from the Major Lark, and a quirked smile from the Colonel. It was a simple tilt of the lips on one side of his mouth and a warmth in his eyes. "I don't understand, did I insult you Colonel?"

"Alex, is fine-"

"The WMG, or War Mage Guard, is an elite group of men who perfect the science of killing and make it an art. To be a simple War Mage you must be proficient in a martial art, necromancy, runes, Dark Arts, the defense of the former , charms, and potions. They must also know a foreign language and many choose to also learn swordsmanship. To be a Master, you must master all that and much more. It often takes an entire lifetime to get the certification of a War Mage, let alone a Master war Mage, so it is most often undertaken by those who have an incredibly long life such as Elves, dracken, lamia, valkry, or _Warlocks_. Hehehe, Did you know how powerful your seat companion was when you picked him Harry?" The tone was cold and sneering, mocking his ignorance_. Harry was instantly reminded of several of the Slytherins from Britain and he didn't like it._ Turning so as to face the newcomer, Harry didn't catch how Colonel Jewelerz had to restrain the major, nor how the Colonel's normally obsidian gaze flashed with restrained magic.

"I didn't tell you that you could address me so familiarly. We haven't even met." Harry said in his most posh British accent and didn't turn around no matter how hard his knees shook behind the seat. It would have ruined the image he was going for, so instead he glared at the man who was now in front of him.

He was ugly; a physical manifestation of the theoretical love child between a Malfoy and a Snape. His nose was straight, but too large for his face. His eyes were blue, but dingy and set to close to his nose. The man's chin was too prominent; his lips to thin and bleached of color. His hair hung long, stringy, and greasy, a thin and dirty blond color. Utterly unappealing, and if Harry hadn't missed his guess, a physical manifestation of his character.

"Well if it isn't the Crabapple himself. Mahan Bartholomew Crabtree III, if we wanted your opinion we would've asked for it." Major Lark practically spit at him from where she stood behind Harry and the Colonel. Harry saw out of the corner of his eye the Colonel's hand come up and push gently against the Major's chest, just hard enough that she was pushed back into her seat.

"Major, I do believe you owe Mr. Potter a hot chocolate. Why don't you go make good on your promise. We'll still be here when you return." As with all the other instances that Harry had seen the Colonel operate he was calm and controlled. Even when Harry had the distinct feeling that Mahan Bartholomew Crabtree III had insulted him. "By the way, we're still in the Winter Blue Uniform, didn't you get the memo?"

Harry had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his laughter contained. The Colonel has much more restraint then anyone Harry had ever seen, except perhaps Remus, Remus had a lot of restraint. With an unbecoming shade of red infusing his cheeks Mahan Bartholomew Crabtree III marched away from their section of seating shoving unsuspecting MiliOffs this way and that, pissing off more than one strangely colored officer.

"Ugh, that ass always puts me in a foul mode. Here Harry I promised you a hot chocolate before you left, and as this wise-ass reminded me, I always keep my promises." A hot paper cup was gently placed in his hand and an elbow went to the Colonel's head, but of course the Major missed.

Harry watched them play around for a moment, startled at how calmly they rough housed in front of the men and women they had to lead and teach. Then, just out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something awesome. It looked like a wall of translucent iridescent _water_. But Harry knew that that couldn't be water, nothing was getting wet, and it was staying in one place. Forgetting himself for a moment Harry asked, in awe, "What is this?"

"That marvel of magic is a Hayden Ward; particularly hard piece of magic that is normally limited by the mental strength and magical aptitude of the caster. In this case though the train has these built in wards around every section of seating. We, those in the barriers of the ward, can see out and watch everyone come and go, but those outside the ward only see an iridescent barrier and can only hear the calm wash of the ocean. We could hear out too if we wanted to, but we don't want to." The laughing tone in which the Major responded reminded him that not thirty minutes ago his questions had gotten him in trouble and his seatmate into a great deal of awkwardness that neither one wanted.

Turning around from the barrier Harry kept his head low, "I'm sorry I ask you so many questions. I don't know very much." Harry could already hear the scoff of Snape or Malfoy saying he didn't have the intelligence, and the calluse remarks from Hermione about his and Ron's levels of aptitude, about how people could really only learn so much and that they probably couldn't contain that much information. She had said it on a particularly rough day when she hadn't really been ready to forget their hurt. Her words had stayed with him for quite a while though.

"Hey, don't worry about it! There's nothin' wrong with asking questions, and whoever told you otherwise should be hung. How would we learn if we didn't ask questions? See, I just asked you a question, are you mad 'cause I asked it?" the major waited with a hand on his arm, her head peeking over his shoulder.

"But you and the Colonel, you must be important people who have better things to do than answer annoying questions from a nobody like me!" by the end of his remark he had spun around, so now facing the two others in the 'compartment' Harry was caught off guard by the other man.

Reaching a hand out the Colonel snatched Harry from his secure position near the ward-wall and plopped his little form into the very comfortable chair beside him. "First off Harry- may I call you Harry?" After getting a timid nod the Colonel continued, "First off, my name is Alex. If you're exceptionally mad you could call me Alexandre, or Jewlerz, or some combination thereof. It's just a tad hard to have a non-professional relationship with someone who calls you by your titles." Then with a smirk the Colonel went to work breaking down the damage that he could see lying just beneath the surface of Harry's defenses. "Second," he intoned with a smirk, "I just asked you a question, were you mad that I asked it?"

Harry's brain stuttered to a stop. Of course he wasn't mad! Why would he be mad? "No?."

"Is that a question or an answer? Gotta believe what you say, else wise why'd you say it?" Major Lork's input was more a sassy remark than any deep, thought provoking, comment; but Harry could see that they believed it as more than just a nice thing to say, they stood by the idea that they meant what they said. Without thinking about it, Harry said,

"Bet, you don't get into a lot of fights because you can't hold your tongue."

"Oh, I don't know about that, Louisa has a nasty tendency to only tell you what she really thinks of you at the top of her lungs after nearly body slamming you. It's gotten her into plenty of fights."

"Yep, that's right!" Her easy acceptance was something Harry had never really encountered before. Ron hated being told he was stupid, and lord forbid if anyone had ever thought to tell Snape he was a bastard. No, not very many people from his home, nor his small family, took it well when someone pointed out a fault of theirs. Yet here were two people he barely knew willing to make fun of themselves so that he would feel more comfortable with them.

"Oh." It was all Harry could say on that matter and took a sip of the cooling chocolate in his hand. Though, with a look out from under his fringe, Alex didn't look as distracted as Harry had hoped he'd done his little stunt. 'No,' Harry thought, 'Alex has something he wants to say to me and he wants to make sure I hear it. That's why he let me get him off track.'

"Questions, Harry, are the only way you learn new things. Even if you never ask them out loud, you've still asked a question." Here the Colonel stuttered a moment, as though he didn't know what to say, but Harry didn't think that had ever happened to him before, so it must be something else. "Sometimes there are certain times when you want to impress an image of yourself to someone; maybe as a commander before troupes, or a politician before enemies. So you do things you wouldn't normally do, or don't do things you normally would. Like with Crabtree earlier, I've only known you a little while, but I know that's not how you normally act." Here again Alex paused, "I want you to know, both Louisa and I do, that no matter your question you can come to us. We will always try our hardest to answer them." With a rather quirky grin, one side of his mouth up, the other staying down, white teeth flashing, Alex finished with one last thought, "Now before we go onto any other items of business, do you have something to ask us?"

Harry sat and thought, taking time to sip his increasingly cool hot chocolate. "Why did Crabtree sound like he was insulting you?"

Alex sighed, "Because he thought he was, but I have long developed a thicker skin than most of my peers. Oh, how should I explain this dilemma?" Harry allowed Alex time to gather his thoughts, it was obvious the question he had asked was more than he thought it was.

"I am a Warlock, this is not something I hide but many people are under the impression that it should be something I am ashamed of." Holding up a hand Alex forestalled any comments from Harry, and a certain look told him that while Alex wasn't ashamed of what he was, it was hard for him to tell. "Real Warlocks aren't like the Warlocks of England and Old Europe. Real Warlocks have often been so traumatized by life and what their values have forced them too that they can never do true white magic.

"Often Warlocks are magic users who make deals with demons and devils for the lives of the ones they love. Once the demon or devil possesses the Warlock, the selfless love a Warlock has for his family forces the purification of the demon or devil." He sighed rubbing his hands over his face and assuming a tired, no weary, expression. "The problem becomes the after-effects of the possession. The soul becomes soiled. It becomes hard to maintain the better emotions: joy, happiness, or gentleness. It also becomes harder to maintain control.

"Warlocks' also give up a hell of a lot of morals. We just stop caring." Alex paused, Harry didn't say anything. Trying to withhold any formation of an opinion before he had all the facts. Harry noticed that Louisa had ceased to make any noise whatsoever, or any that he could hear. "In turn we love obsessively and without halt, our jealousy is easily roused and we covet our partners to the point of stifling them. Our commanding officers and bosses are continually worried about unconnected Warlocks, they are rash and impractical and their thinking becomes impaired. They eventually have to be put down. We live for our partners, the people we love."

Harry suddenly understood that Alex was telling him more than just the stereotypical characteristics of Warlocks.


End file.
